Kimberly Meter - A Chance in the Night

But Carlton didn’t heed her warning. Hell, the subtle threat seemed to incite him further. He jerked her to him in a swift movement that Skye would’ve thought impossible given his size, squeezing a pained gasp from her even as she pushed against him. “What are you doing?” she tried demanding with some sort of authority, but in truth, fear had replaced her calm bravado. “This isn’t the way Belleni does business. You’re risking more than you know if you don’t follow the rules.”

He ignored her and directed his driver to pull around to the back of the bar, out of sight, tucked into the dark alley. His grip tightened on her flesh as her sheath rode up, exposing her rear. He tossed her to the seat and wasted little time in covering her body with his considerable girth. Oh, God, he was going to crush her. She pushed against him, panic fighting with her need to remain in control of the situation for her own sake.

“Please don’t…” she gasped.

His breath hot on her face, his thick hands groping under her dress, bruising the flesh as he sought the tender folds, caused her to react in pure instinct as she raked her fingers down his face hard enough to draw blood. He grunted in shocked pain, drawing away a fraction, giving her more room to breathe and wiggle away from him but while the Town Car was roomier than the standard sedan, Carlton’s bulk made it difficult to maneuver far. She reached for the door but before her hand could touch the handle, he hauled her back with his fist tangled in her long hair.

“You bitch,” he growled in her ear, his grip tight at her scalp. She twisted against his hold, blinking back tears of pain, refusing to give him what the sadistic bastard wanted. His lips stretched in an ugly knowing smile as he held her captive, helpless and scared. “You’ve been a bad girl. I like that. But you’ve made a mark on my face. Only I’m allowed to leave marks.” He drove his fist into her belly, the shock and agony of it causing her to suck air. Heaven help her, he was going to beat her, maybe even kill her. He didn’t care about the consequences.

“B-belleni will have your balls,” she managed to choke out but Carlton just laughed.

“You’re a whore. Easily bought and easily replaced,” he responded with a shrug, shredding her designer sheath to expose her breasts.

“S-stop,” she shrieked, true fear blotting out rational thought as she frantically tried to cover herself. She’d never been in such a situation before. Belleni only allowed select clientele to book his girls. Never before had she been paired with such a monster. She knew how to deal with overeager clients, not ones with a sadistic streak. Her phone and pepper spray were in her clutch, which had fallen to the floor when he’d thrown her. She twisted and reached desperately for her clutch but a lightning-fast crack across her jaw caused stars to fly around her head and black dots to pulse before her eyes.

“You’re a feisty one,” she heard him murmur, the appreciative tone sickening her. “Let’s see if you’re worth what I paid.”

Blood filled her mouth from her busted lip but she opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth. Someone, oh, God, please help her.

CHRISTIAN HAD JUST STEPPED into the alley behind Martini to take his break when he stopped short at the muffled scream coming from the sleek Town Car that lurked in the shadows. The violent rock of the Town Car betrayed a tussle and by the sounds of it, a woman was involved. His brain directed him to return to the bar. It was best to remain uninvolved. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up in someone else’s business. But even as he turned, his hand reaching for the handle, his conscience balked. What if the woman was really getting brutalized? Could he live with himself if something bad happened to her? No. However, the logical side of his brain countered, what if it’s just some kinky couple who liked it rough and she’s in no real danger after all? Busting in on someone’s private time would only cause embarrassment all around.

The logical argument pulled considerable weight but as another scream sounded from the interior only to be cut suspiciously short, he said, “Screw it,” to the logical side of his brain and bounded for the car. But even as he told himself he’d deal with the ramifications of his actions later, he was shocked when he jerked open the door and saw the woman from the bar, bleeding and struggling feebly against the hulking mass on top of her, choking the life out of her.

“WHAT THE F—” THE FAT MAN startled as Christian reached inside the car and dragged him out and off the woman who looked in bad shape. He landed a solid punch to the man’s flabby, jowled face, knocking him to the ground, howling. The driver erupted from the car and trained a gun on him, the subtle shake in his grip betraying the fact that he’d probably never fired the thing, but it didn’t make Christian feel any less freaked that he was staring down the business end of a 9mm.

“Don’t do it, man,” he warned. “You’ve got a half-dead woman in your car right now and you don’t want to add more misery to your plate. I doubt your piece of shit employer is paying you well enough to cover up murder. Think about it. It ain’t worth it. I’m going to get the girl and we’re all going to walk away nice and easy.”

The driver gave a short nod as the fat man lumbered to his feet, wiping at the blood flowing from his nose. “Take the bitch. I’m through with her,” he said, his voice nasal and wet sounding. His lip curled in disgust. “Tell Belleni I want my money back. His whore wasn’t worth the asking price,” he said, mistaking Christian for someone affiliated with the woman and her business. That alone made him want to further rearrange the asshole’s face but he settled for a hard-edged glare at the man as he edged past him to gingerly pull the woman from the vehicle, cradling her against his chest.

With a curt nod to his driver, the fat man disappeared into the Town Car and slammed the door behind him as the car melted into the night.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. She was badly beaten. Blood dribbled from her nose and swollen lip, smearing the honey-hued locks he’d noticed at the bar. She was a far cry from the sophisticated trophy that’d been perched on the stool earlier. He couldn’t take her into the bar like this. She opened one eye and he could see the glaze of pain. “I need to take you to the hospital,” he told her. He wasn’t surprised by the weak shake of her head as she moaned.

“No hospital, p-please,” she said, laboring for each word. “I’ll be…punished.” The last part came out with a low sob as she huddled against him and his resolve broke.

Ah, hell. It was his mother all over again. She could be suffering internal injuries and there’d be no way for him to know until it was too late but he knew why she’d rather die than step foot in a hospital because the care came with a price. Hospital staff were required to report if they suspected a patient had been the victim of a violent crime. And if he dragged a broken woman into the E.R., they’d certainly start asking questions. He’d learned that the first time a john had nearly killed his mother. He’d been six and scared. The hospital staff had saved his mother but they’d had to sneak out when the questions had started.

He rolled his eyes to the midnight sky and cursed his own damn luck for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and landing himself a problem he didn’t want. Lucky for her, he lived in a loft above the bar. He supposed he could take her there for the time being until he figured out what else to do. He fished his phone from his pocket and dialed his friend Gage Stratham, who was also on the floor that night, telling him that he had an emergency and he needed coverage at the bar. Gage told him he’d take care of it and Christian carried the woman up to his loft.